


The Prompt Machine: v.IronPanther

by singingwithoutwords



Series: The Prompt Machine [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Oops, high class prostitute au that contains zero smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 01:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17458409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singingwithoutwords/pseuds/singingwithoutwords
Summary: Tumblr prompt: high class prostitute!TonyWarning(s): prostitution





	The Prompt Machine: v.IronPanther

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: high class prostitute!Tony
> 
>  **Warning(s)** : prostitution

In Tony’s line of work, reputation was everything.  Oh, sure, skill was nice to have, but without a reputation, it was pretty much useless.  You had to be known.  People had to recognize you, know your name, and know your reputation was solid.

Tony’s reputation was  _very_  solid.  He didn’t kiss and tell, he had impeccable manners, he was devastatingly handsome, witty, a genius capable of following any scientific conversation with ease, and highly skilled in other areas no one talked about in polite company.  His reputation was so solid that he could be extremely discerning about which clients he took on; showing up to a party with Tony Stark at your side was a mark of serious prestige in a lot of circles.  He didn’t advertise the people he turned down, either.  Didn’t want a reputation for humiliating the clientele, after all.

(There were exceptions, of course.  Like that asshole Stone, who thought paying for Tony’s time meant he could do whatever the fuck he wanted.  Now he couldn’t buy himself company in New York for any price: everyone knew if Tiberius Stone propositioned you, you told him no, called Tony, and got paid very well for  _not_  getting your ass smacked around and potentially killed.)

Tony was fairly certain his reputation was solely responsible for his current visitor.  Sprawled across his living room couch like it was a throne, in a bespoke suit that accentuated and enhanced every inch of his body, was a man with plenty of experience involving thrones: Crown Prince T’Challa of Wakanda.

Tony sat opposite the prince on a low chair of the same rich golden brown leather as the couch, glass of fine scotch in hand.  He knew Prince T’Challa by reputation, of course, though they’d never met- Wakanda was very much the talk of a lot of circles, but its people very rarely strayed past its borders.

Prince T’Challa had a reputation for a wickedly sharp sense of humor and a matching tongue to those who irritated him.  He was polite to everyone, no matter how low their social or financial class, gave generous tips, knew how to graciously accept rejection, and never went anywhere without one of his bodyguards.  Tony could attest to that last one, since a woman who looked like she could bench press him one-handed was standing against the wall behind T’Challa, face pleasantly expressionless.

“So,” Tony said after a moment.  “To what do I owe this honor, your Highness?”

T’Challa smiled.  It made him look impish, without detracting from the royalness.  “An acquaintance of mine told me that the best way to truly experience America is to experience it with Tony Stark.”

“High praise,” Tony said.  “Does this acquaintance have a name?”  Certain clients had certain impressions of him, and knowing who’d referred T’Challa might go a long way to figuring out what he was after.

“Miss Virginia Potts,”

Virginia “Pepper” Potts, CEO of Potts Industries, enjoyed spa days, massages, having her hair played with, romcom movie marathons, and ranting about business rivals.  Nothing sexual with her; he was pretty sure she was sweet on her driver/bodyguard Steve, who was  _definitely_  sweet on her, and Tony wasn’t about to upset that human golden retriever puppy.  Tony privately considered her a good friend.  He wouldn’t even mind not being paid to hang out with her anymore.

“Pepper certainly knows a thing or two- I for one wouldn’t disagree with her.”

T’Challa’s smile widened slightly, and he nodded.  “Indeed.  Miss Potts recommended you highly.”

“How long will you be in the country?”

“Two months.  That is all my father will allow for now.”

“All of it in New York, or do you intend to travel?”

“I intend, should you allow me, to do whatever you propose.”

“Such faith in little old me?” Tony asked, laughing.  “I’m flattered, your Highness.”

“Please, call me T’Challa.”

“Well, T’Challa,” he said, setting down his drink and leaning forward.  “Two months - with travel, because America has so much more than this one city to offer - that might put a bit of a dent in your budget.”

T’challa leaned forward as well.  “I am certain I can cover any cost I might incur at your side.”

Tony held out his hand, telegraphing it carefully, because bodyguards tended to get skittish if hands moved too fast around them, and he didn’t want to be body-slammed through his expensive glass coffee table.  “Then congratulations- you’re about to have yourself one hell of a vacation.”

T’Challa took his hand and shook it.  His hand was bigger than Tony’s, warm, with callous on the fingers.  “I look forward to it.”


End file.
